


the liberation of love (with my two hands)

by handschuhmaus



Category: Star Wars - All Media Types
Genre: Fluff, Gen, Kittens, Originally Posted on Tumblr, drunk darth plagueis
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2017-12-23
Updated: 2017-12-23
Packaged: 2019-05-15 08:43:08
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/14787203
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/handschuhmaus/pseuds/handschuhmaus
Summary: Originally begunhere





	the liberation of love (with my two hands)

“I really think you should consider the possibility,” Palpatine said cautiously.

Damask laughed, probably at something in the other room, and nearly spat out mulled cider. The Muun, alas, was drunk. “Pssst. Come here!”

With a decided air of longsuffering, the senator rose from the actually quite comfortable chair and approached.

Damask turned around, perhaps hearing his footsteps, and laughed again. “Not you. There’s a pitten in the other room and it has such amusing antics!”

“Magister, you are drunk.”

“Would you like some…cider? Three little pittens, they lost their mittens and–” Damask’s warbling was interrupted by the sonorous doorbell.

Palpatine sighed. He did not wish to join Plagueis in inebriation at the present time, and by the sounds coming from the other room, he was aware that his mentor’s own mentor (who did not bother with waiting for anyone to come to the door, but nevertheless habitually rang the doorbell) had arrived. This did not bode well for his attempts to convince Damask that the little boy from Tatooine might be of interest.

“Hello, Senator Palpatine,” said a small voice, and said Senator nearly jumped out of his own skin. Speak of the [probably] Forceborn! What was the boy doing in Hego Damask’s penthouse apartment?!

He turned to see them. Inasmuch as an expression could be observed on the Bith’s face, Tenebrous appeared to be grimacing, but he was also holding Anakin Skywalker’s hand. The grimace, though, probably derived from the claws of the pitten that had decided to make its way up Nome’s trouser leg.

“Please.” Nome addressed the Muun.

“Is he…” Anakin began and then stepped towards Palpatine, the only one in the room he had probably known before this day. But he couldn’t get his hand out of Temebrous’s, apparently.

The clatter of the glass on the side table alerted the senator to the fact that Damask, still grinning foolishly, had put down the glass.

“Come here, my boy. I’ve always fancied playing whatshisname, that great gift giver,” the Muun beckoned, relaxing into his typical chair.

Anakin looked at Palpatine, apparently for reassurance. “If it’s all the same, I’d rather not, sir,” he said politely.

“He’s lost.” Nome informed them tersely.

“No, I’m not! I just…couldn’t find Master Yaddle, and I don’t…I couldn’t get on the transport.”

Palpatine eyed the stern pink sofa and found it no more inviting than usual but nevertheless decided to sit down, thinking the boy might be willing to sit beside him. “We’ll get you back to your guardians, Anakin,” he said, as gently as possible.

The boy did not speak up, although he seemed to be buried in thought, and he did sit down beside Palpatine, Nome having released his hand. In fact, the small sweaty hand sought out Palpatine’s, and he let it lay in his.

Nome strode over to his apprentice’s chair and began a conversation in hushed tones, the words impossible to make out from the sofa. Anakin sighed, and softly said, “I miss my mom, Senator. None of the Jedi had–moms.”

Palpatine sighed more softly and truthfully enough replied “I–did not get along well with my parents, Anakin. But I do have a sister I miss.”

“Why can’t you see her? She’s not a slave, is she?”

“She–no, but, unfortunately her family doesn’t tolerate me.”

“Wish you and Master Qui-Gon could be part of my family,” Anakin said, and since the other Sith had stopped talking it was perhaps more audible than the child intended. “And Mom wasn’t still a slave back on Tatooine.”

“We could see if we could do something about that,” Damask offered, more gently, although he was still half-grinning foolishly.

Palpatine looked up at his mentor. “May I ask why you’re interested, though?”

Before Damask could reply, the doorbell rang again, and Fourdee could be heard answering it.

“Swanky, ain’t it?” the accent was Correlian, touched with a few idiosyncrasies of the Nar Shaada dialect, but there was something about the vowels and enunciation that reminded Palpatine of his homeworld…

“One would only expect a banker’s apartment to be fancy,” a second voice said dryly.

In walked a man in Jedi robes, whom Palpatine definitely recognized, and a woman in a murky green spacer’s coverall, whom he thought oddly, vaguely familiar.

“Is Magister Damask going to be helpful?” it was the same voice as the Correlian, but the accent was plainly upper class Naboo.

“How should I know, yet? Who is this, Master Dooku?” Plagueis said, finally managing to sound remarkably sober.

“Ferrian Cos, a trader interested in cleaning up the part of our galaxy unfortunately muddled by the Hutts.”

“I don’t quite know how I could be of assistance,” Damask replied. “Enlighten me and perhaps I will.”

“I’d like to bring one of my…one of the former slaves in here, if you will see her. She’s just outside your door.” This time the elocution was Naboo, but it was not quite the precise speech of, say, a queen.

**Author's Note:**

> Originally begun [here](http://rugessnome.tumblr.com/post/168876410013/the-liberation-of-love-with-my-two-hands-part-i)


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